Fever
by Pencilwalla
Summary: Oneshot. KK. AU. Part 3 of the Garden of Heaven series. Forces are meddling from beyond the grave, forcing an unusual confrontation. In the darkest hour of night, kisses are exchanged rather than stolen, and words rather than flowers express love.


He walks through the Outer Garden again, looking for flowers. Today it is exactly one year from the night he first saw her. Kaoru.

He learned her name by accident. She still knows nothing. And yet she knows everything.

The paintings she has done in the past year prove that. She has painted his eyes, the Garden Gate, places in the forest where he grew up. Perhaps the most striking is a white flower on a green and blue spiral, swirled with silver glitter. The center of the flower is a perfect circle that to him looks exactly like Tomoe's eye. The same dark color, the same depth, and the white flower is a plum blossom.

Without even trying, it seems, he has affected her. She knows him without knowing him, has seen every important event in his life in dreams, and he fears and longs for the day when she will paint herself, sleepy and delirious. Then, will she see for herself the truth? That she is painting him, piece by piece? Or will she dismiss it as a dream?

The thought of her forgetting him hurts, and he knows that he is still a fool, to think that anything good can come of this. He could leave, should never return, for this cannot end well. His experiences have proved it, and yet...

...and yet he returns weekly, sometimes nightly to watch her sleep.

He looks again at the beds of flowers surrounding him, reading the labels, searching for a flower that will convey...what? He doesn't know what it is he longs to tell her. That he loves her? Or that he must leave her?

An unusual bloom catches his eye. A transparent rose, whose delicate petals are soft and clear. The sign beneath them reads, _Rainbow Rose. Assumes the color of the giver's desire._ He breaks one of the stems cleanly, noting the lack of thorns. The flower glows and vibrant color fills each glassy petal.

It is the blue of Kaoru's eyes. He recalls clearly her eyes, though he has only seen them once, dazed and blinking rapidly. The striking color is unnatural, never found in flowers gown outside this Garden, and he hesitates. Never before has he given her something so obviously magical. He has always chosen flowers that resemble common flowers.

He is certain she would appreciate the gift, and she would make the connection between her eyes and its petals.

He admits to himself that he would not mind if one day she discovered that her dreams were his nightmares and memories. It would be a connection that was at least no longer one-sided.

That night he leaves the rose, tied to the bedpost with scarlet ribbon, for her to find.

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She paints in the morning, as she is accustomed to, so that she can capture her dreams in her art. On this morning, however, she lets herself relax and get ready slowly. Her sleep last night was dreamless and deep, and whatever she paints will come from her conscious today.

The blue rose, petals unfurled in full bloom, holds the place of honor in her studio among all of the other flowers that she has received. Her admirer's flowers never die, even if she deprives them of water and air. They seem real enough to her, but she is an artist, not a botanist.

This flower seems different to her; it is the first flower to defy the laws of nature. No real flower is that shade of blue, matching her irises so exquisitely, but here it is, on her wall. She stares at the blank canvas an considers what to paint.

She remembers that a rich patron at the art gallery she sells from requested a painting of a horse wearing a party hat. At the time she had thought she would never paint anything like that, but with noting else to do, she tries her hand at it.

The horse is black, but she gives it a mane and tail of blood-red hair. It's running, maybe charging, across a dark dirt field. Instead of grass and flowers there is gravel and skeletons. More morbid than she usually did, and not at all what she planned. It was one of those days, it seemed. Putting the unfinished painting aside to work on later, she went upstairs to have lunch.

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A ghost woman watches the sunset hungrily.

She, Tomoe is dead. Day and night mean nothing to one who is num, inside and out. All she can do is watch over him, and hope that he finds peace. Only then can she pass freely into the next life.

It is her fault he suffers, her fault for betraying him. Her fault for thinking that she could love him and still be forgiven. If only she had killed herself instead of going out on that winter's day! Then the Garden would have been sealed into her dead body. Kenshin, her second love, would not carry the burden he had never been meant to hold.

The Garden of Heaven, passed from mother to daughter for generations, had been Tomoe's to keep hidden. She had worn its seal until her dying day, when his blade had pierced it.

The Garden stole him, cutting straight into his soul and infecting him with copper fire. Now he cannot die, possessed by the eternal flame. And she cannot live, her soul lost to the garden's hunger.

Hi second love will not fail. She will make sure o it. She will bring Kenshin this woman; will heal his heart, because she owes it to him.

He may have killed her blindly, but she cursed him with a fate worse then death.

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She was flying high above a garden, a garden that would be the envy of royalty if they saw it. A garden perfectly organized in squares within squares, with iron fencing and walled sides.

It was a riot of color, a scene that she knew she would never be able to paint properly. What she would give to have paint in all these magnificent shades!

She became aware of something holding her waist, keeping her up in the sky. She couldn't bend her neck and see what it was, but it felt like the embrace of someone she knew. Whoever it was was warm, and their heat was welcome against the chill of the altitude.

The smell of the wind was intoxicating, a mix of subtle floras and some unnamed things that seemed to fill her very being, changed her into one of the flowers sparkling blue...

With a start she woke, looked around...and froze. Where was she? She took a deep breath to calm herself, noticing too late the enormous bloom directly in front of her face. The pollen slid down her lungs, leaving her gasping.

Then all was black.

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He was wandering the Outer Garden again, when he came upon her.

For a brief moment he thought she was dead, before his ears registered the faint sound of her breath and his eyes took in the flower open in front of her. Sleeping powder must have billowed from it. How he hated the Garden-maid flowers.

Picking her up, he moved to the Garden Gate. She would have to be returned before someone noticed she was missing. Or, worse yet, she awoke.

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The bed beneath her was soft, and warm. She rolled over, not really wanting to get up yet. She wasn't normally this lazy...although her bed was much more comfortable than the grass...

Her dream flooded her head, the fear of waking up in another unknown place racing through her. Before it had been the unearthly garden, where that huge blossom had breathed on her. Where would she be now? Thoughts of castles and cottages floated through her mind, but she knew the only way she would ever know was to open her eyes.

So she did, and saw...nothing. She was in the dark again, just like the night she'd received the first bouquet. Looking wildly around her, she glimpsed something bright and furious. Reaching out, she touched what felt like a sleeve.

"Wait." She said gently, holding out her hand to the stranger. "You're the one who's been leaving me flowers!"

She stared at those eyes so compelling. She felt that if she stared enough, she might drown in them. Slowly, the silhouette of a figure, skulking and faintly predatorial, came into being. All around her there was the darkest of night, and then here was he, her admirer. He reminded her most of some nameless beast that prowled the night, stealing souls from young maidens in fairy tales. But even if he was a monster, she was strangely certain her life was in no danger.

The flower had proven that.

"Yes." It was the first time she had heard him speak. His voice was low and soft, but still carrying a hint of steel that matched his eyes and stance. He moved closer, taking her hand in his. His skin was surprisingly warm, almost feverish. Was he ill?

"Who are you? Why is it so dark?" Kaoru asked. She pulled on his hand, and he settled himself on the edge of the bed alongside her gracefully. The details and colors of his image were coming into focus now, as though she was slowly opening her eyes after a long sleep. His hair was long, and red, and his skin was paler than she would have thought with his heated skin. Here were no signs of sickness on his face. There was a striking scar that curved down one cheek, adding to the aura he seemed to radiate. Here was a person who was powerful, and knew it.

"I drew the light from here." He said. She realized he was avoiding the question. There was a hungry quality in his gaze that made her skin tingle; she could not comprehend how she had ever slept in his presence before. Such a gaze would be felt even from behind, or far way.

"Please tell me your name." She begged. A stab of longing shot through her heart, and she leaned close to him, not wanting to look away. He hesitated, and then spoke again.

"Kenshin." He admitted to her. His name seemed to suit him; the very idea of swords seemed to be intertwined in his manner. She was not unfamiliar with swords, but this man didn't just know swords. It was as if he was a sword, a living katana. Did that make her a shinai, made of weaker bamboo?

"Why?" She said simply. The question had burned her from the first bouquet, had driven her to analyze every flower for all it's meanings. Even when her boyfriend had become suspicious and dumped her, she hadn't been able to stop thinking of it. He subject had been exhausted in her mind, on paper, but not in her art. It occurred to her that she would be able to paint him at last, the face that went with those eyes, and a thrill of pleasure came up her spine.

"Because...I love you." He rose, moving towards the window. She clung to his sleeve, holding fast to it.

Kenshin glanced back at her, confusion and desire mingled on his face. She tugged at the sleeve, and he sat back down.

She kissed him, softly, and a warm feeling spread throughout her. Arms caught her waist and pulled her close, and hair tangled in her fingers as her arms encircled his neck.

When he drew back, letting her slump against her pillows, she was too dazed to stop him from leaving. Slumber, even the slightest bit if rest, would b impossible now. Hot sparks were catching under her skin, and she held white fingers to her lips with wonder.

Watching the two kiss, Tomoe gave the mirror a small smile. She could not see herself, as a dead woman. But she could see Kaoru touch her mouth and knew that all would be well.

Kenshin's second love would succeed.

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**Well then. That was different, for me. it was happily longer than Ague. The next part may even explain what the heck is going on. Or not. Thanks to all my reviewers, who make this happen with their support.**

**This has been chickentyrant5.**


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